


Möbius

by mika60



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mika60/pseuds/mika60
Summary: The reminisces of a Miya twin, in vignettes.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 103





	Möbius

Your first memories are of growing up in western Japan, your toddler tongue snapping out a dialect different from the syllables spoken by the metal box in your living room, always showcasing pretty, moving pictures and even prettier people. There is another like you in your household. Not  _ exactly _ like you, per se, but almost too close for comfort. Close, like the shared toys that travel from one small pair of hands to another. Close, like the shared connection between two universes that still-developing minds cannot explain. The connection grows over time, as does the pile of toys - the latter always organized to a fault. The two of you are taught to clean them after each playing hour; partly to commit to good habits, and partly to keep up with your spotless home, filled with tiles and counters that gleam like the sun even on the gloomiest days.

==

You watch your dad laugh time and again - uproariously, slyly, lovingly - his face always betraying his true emotions. He brings you and your twin to different local shrines, sometimes to utter prayers at invisible entities, and other times just to learn from oral histories. The poised fox statues prove intimidating at first, but tales of the Inari Okami intrigue you to no end.

_ The great spirits answered my wish once _ . Dad says.  _ So try to be nice to ‘em. _

_ What was yer wish, dad? _

_ All this _ . He grins, and squeezes the two of you against his broad chest.  _ But I didn’t know it at the time. _

==

“Miya-kun. Pay attention.” Your math teacher admonishes in elementary school. The blackboard behind her attempts to teach the concept of “infinity” - at least, in terms that a first-grader can somehow understand. Your twin is fidgeting with the object being passed around the classroom, lithe fingers gliding across the bright green piece of paper that clashes terribly with your uniforms. It’s the most unusual ring, a form manipulated by a singular twist. Yet somehow, “infinity” dwells within its simplicity.

_ Möbius strip. _ Your teacher declares.  _ No beginning, and no end. _

_ Are we like the two sides of it? _ After class, your sibling whispers the question at you and you alone.  _ So different, but forever linked? _

_ God, I hope not. _ You glower the same way your father glowers, juggling that conundrum of love and disdain for this duplicate next to you. Regardless of the sentiment, however, your hands are still joined the entire way home - two sides of the same strip, bound together by threads of fate, or on some days, just the intersection of fingers.

==

Your first joint birthday party embodies madness - shrill screams of excitement, lopsided party hats and all. There’s cake all over your twin’s nose before either of you ever taste it, and only a nanosecond passes before a sludge of cream forces your own eyes shut. Your father grimaces at first, but only a soft smile remains as he cleans both your faces with his handkerchief. You know he barely tolerates the disorder of two children in the same room, let alone 15, but he loves you enough to make a 4-hour exception - loves you enough to laugh instead, even when the other adult in the room smears another slice of cake into his dark hair.

==

You are both 10 when you’re shown your adoption papers, laid out alongside warm reassurances that biology can never overcome love. You watch your parents, consider their decade-long displays of unconditional affection, and trust their words fully as you always had. Even without this revelation, your family is already somewhat different than those of your classmates - so all this is simply another gentle segue, at worst. There is also the realization that your parents have always been two sides of a Möbius strip themselves, only their story had marked a beginning, and yours rests at the end - or, is it the reverse? Perhaps, you consider with your youthful logic, to receive their love is what it means to be cyclical, to be infinite.

==

The two of you discover a sport together, yet another passion that allows -  _ curses _ \- you to remain conjoined for at least this segment of your lives. Your competitive natures elevate each other’s skill level, even though your enthusiasm usually far outweighs your sibling’s. As personal commitment multiplies, your parents take turns picking you up from practice, and together they never miss a single game, even splitting up when your counterpart has another match going on simultaneously. This is not the exact path they had in mind, but their experienced eyes can follow the unpredictable path of a ball with precision, can appreciate the height of your jumps towards the net. So they cheer when you complete a block, and even harder when you score on a layup.

In their time, they had reached particular pinnacles within another realm, but there is absolutely no pressure for you to do the same.

==

Occasionally, there are training camps in Tokyo you must attend, and your father joins those trips with his well-memorized subway maps on hand. He seldom confuses the exact path needed to journey from ward to ward - years growing up in the city had honed his sense of direction well - and along the way, he teaches you how to balance the energy of the metropolis with your energy on the court. At the tail end of challenging days filled with drills and mock games, he takes you to spend an extra night at your grandparents’ home, where you lull into slumber as their traditional methods soothe your aching muscles.  _ These massages and broths helped your father back in the day _ , they advise.  _ So we know they will do wonders for you _ .

==

In high school, you fall for someone in a senior class, then someone junior to you soon after. But both end unrequited, and you discover how heartache is a wound that bandages cannot mend.  _ It’s alright _ , your parents console over the dinner table, a plate of your favorite sashimi placed right in front of your ricebowl.  _ Most of the time, you find ‘the one’ a tad later in life, like we did. _ Your sibling is much less sympathetic on the surface, but there is genuine compassion underscoring any taunts - after all, you share not only genetics, but also unfortunate track records in romance. By the end of the meal, you are certain that words can always heal much better than bandages, and that the best years are still to come.

==

Your uncle visits frequently, delivering enticing food of his own concoction each time. The two of you wolf down the gifts in the kitchen like the savage teenagers you are, and pretend to not notice the three pairs of eyes observing with amusement from the couch. As you run back into your respective rooms - after expressing proper gratitude for the mid-day snack, of course - you overhear your uncle pose the same, routine jest towards dad.

“So now that they’re 16, have ya figured out yet which one is more like me, the better twin?”

==

The date of your high school graduation falls on the same day as another momentous occasion, so the ceremony only kicks off the first of several celebrations. You’re headed to Kyoto University to keep playing, while your partner-in-crime is off to Waseda to study business. Your dad sobs into his hands as both of you receive your diplomas, tears and snot already smeared like ruined birthday cake by the time he accepts the offered handkerchief. 

“We’re so,  _ so _ proud.” Father initiates the group hug as you gather outside afterward, the rim of both his eyes glowing red.

Your first night post-high school proves restless, and you blink awake at 11:08pm without a shred of fatigue clouding your mind. You stumble into the hallway, intentions aimed towards a cup of hot tea, but the oversized silhouettes of two figures in the living room, swaying to a piece of tender music, sets that goal temporarily aside.

Your twin sister wanders up behind you at some point, an old jersey doubling as her sleepwear, and together you absorb the scene from your makeshift hiding spot, both grinning from ear-to-ear. Like all the idyllic moments for the past 18 years, this one adds itself to an unfinished film reel, each frame laid delicately against a Möbius strip with the length of two generations. Within its infinite loop, the clips play on and on, creating little eternities from stories both past and present.

“Happy anniversary, Kiyoomi.” Your dad smirks. “Thanks, for staying.”

“Happy anniversary, Atsumu.” Your father smiles back. “We did well, together.”

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> This is actually a sequel to [a Twitfic I wrote earlier this week](https://twitter.com/_mika60_/status/1304073639407558658), though this one was conceptualized first. Please feel free to read that for some additional context (Though it’s not necessary)!
> 
>  **ETA (September 16th, 2020):** I put more family headcanon "moments" into [a series of tweets here](https://twitter.com/_mika60_/status/1306213422745387009)!
> 
> And in case you didn’t catch it, SakuAtsu’s twins actually play basketball, not volleyball, and their gender difference is why they had games going on at the same time :D
> 
> Thanks for reading and feel free to leave a comment or [chat with me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/_mika60_/)!


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